


One Thousand and One Tamriel Nights

by Gemleaf



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Fantasy, Fiction, Gen, Multi, Other, Short Stories, short fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28451088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemleaf/pseuds/Gemleaf
Summary: The Clan-Mother shook her head, "The hairless ones will tear out their eyes over truth. Foolish kittens. What is Tamriel for if not stories?"...A collection of short stories in the making, all set within the world of the Elder Scrolls. Lengths will hopefully range from 500 to 5000 words.  All themes are possible, but I wanted to create a space for some off-the-wall stuff that isn't as popular in fanfiction. There is a short summary at the top of the page for each story.
Kudos: 2





	One Thousand and One Tamriel Nights

Title: A Renegade's Salon

Summary: A Thalmor Justiciar infiltrates a subversive club within the grounds of Sunhold University itself.

Warnings: The story centers on artists criticizing the actions and culture of the Aldmeri Dominion. There are mentions (but not overly explicit descriptions) of war-related atrocities, very explicit sexuality within a character's poem, discussions of (fictional) drug use and addiction, and homophobia leaking out of the third-person-limited perspective of the Thalmor officer.

...

The walls of the academy’s basement were reinforced with sound-suppressing wards. Many of the patrons inside were not students. Some hunched over tables, conspiratorial. Others lounged on pillows set against the walls, sharing hookah filled with anything from tobacco to skooma. Glasses of nectar were distributed around the room. A miasma of sweet, salty, and bitter hung thick.  
Occasionally, someone attempted to read in the dim light. A couple stragglers would look over their shoulder, commenting on the work – even starting debates. 

Every face was gold, yellow or dun. After all, this was Alinor, and Alinor was an oppressive seat of imperialism engaging in the hypocrisy of an enforced monoculture. It wasn’t rare for a patron to note the irony. All around were tapestries rescued from Thalmor seizure – depictions of great Khajiit and Imperial merchants, Redguard pirates returning lost treasures to Firsthold, the Orcs making their stand at Orsinium. Yet the only people to witness them… were Altmer.

This hotbed of skooma and cultural renegades was called many things. The salon, the dish pit, ‘study hall’. Names could change, and they changed often. Thalmor Justiciars had been trying to find it for years. Sunhold was simply too big. The patrons knew better than to expect mercy for cooperation.  
The only way in was outright deception.

Ophere tried to sip the nectar lightly enough to keep her senses. She watched the patrons, disgusted without betraying any emotion other than the awe of a complete dullard. They did little but drink, smoke and talk about things they barely understood.

A young woman with a round face took a seat next to Ophere. She cut her hair short, almost resembling the Imperial style. Tobacco smoke wafted from the pipe in her hand. “Well, what do you think?” she smiled, expectantly. 

Ophere was supposed to be demure, shy but ‘intellectual’ in a way that appealed to these degenerates. “It’s certainly a lot to take in,” she murmured, “I’ve… I’ve never used skooma, Addi.”  
“You don’t have to,” Addi said quickly, “No one is going to force you to do anything over here. It’s all about freedom,” and she took a drag from her tobacco pipe and ran a hand through her hair, “It’s poetry night, just so you know.”

“Hm, almost sounds like that’s a problem,” Ophere smirked, leaning in closer to Addi. The woman clearly fancied her, and she was not above using that to her advantage. 

“The patrons get… creative,” Addi laughed, “We express ourselves. It’s art. But it’s not like the old ballads we analyze in class. This is new in Alinor. The khajiit have performed this way for years.”

Khajiit were also one of the few peoples who still engaged in the slave trade, but there was no need to ruin anyone’s fun just yet.

“Are you afraid of frightening me?” Ophere asked sweetly.

“Well, I’m not, but some of the others…” Addi blushed, “You seem like you have the right mindset for it. But the poets, they perform things that are…”

Degenerate. Degenerate trash.

Suddenly the room hushed. Where there had been chatter and debate there was now only the haze of smoke and the clinking of glass.

A professor limped towards a platform in the center of the room. Yes, Ophere recognized the man. Festeldus Elwynd taught advanced Fire magicks… certainly not the usual suspect for renegade salons. He’d served in the Dominion army during the Great War and had a bad knee to show for it. Otherwise, his face was still hard and strong. He even had the audacity to keep his hair in a military braid as he committed treason.

The patrons clapped. Cries of “the Captain speaks!” and “Give us your orders, sir!” bounced around the room, many mocking, others friendly and sentimental.

Festeldus didn’t seem offended or even surprised by this in any way. He was a regular. This was just part of the farce. “Alright, settle down children, we have new friends tonight,” during classes, he was severe, outright barring students from class for speaking out of turn, but here he seemed oddly relaxed, soothing, “Hm, what else. Our cause is just. Fuck the Dominion. It’s poetry night and I have hemorrhoids.”

“Right-o, Sir!” a few raised their glasses. Others nodded and continued to smoke. 

Ophere frowned. While most of the patrons could be reclaimed, Festeldus would no doubt suffer a miserable end for the depth of his betrayal. The professors of Destruction were expected to steer promising students towards service for the Dominion. Festeldus Elwynd had always been notoriously selective about who he recommended into the ranks… even Ophere assumed it was simply because he was so strict.

“Remember everyone, we have a list. Don’t rush the platform, or you’re going to jail,” Festeldus snapped his fingers once.

A slightly drunk man called out from the back, his voice shrill and unseemly, “Is it true what they say about the Navy? Would you be my cellmate, sir? Sir?!” 

“Someone douse that one with a bolt of ice, he needs it – bad, ” Festeldus grinned, “Fuck, now I’m stealing our time. Here’s Fia to get us warmed up.” 

The entire room applauded. A patron in a brown cloak passed by Addi and Ophere’s table, leaving matching pamphlets in his wake. 

BLOOD PURITY: Or: A Futile Exercise in Sexual Anxiety

Evidence. And further questions.

Addi shifted in her seat, “We’re starting right up with something by Fia. That’s great. She’s a talented artist,” she glanced back at Ophere, seeking approval, fearful of rejection. It was disgusting, how the woman fawned over her. 

“It’s exciting!” Ophere giggled, “I’ve never seen this side of Sir Elwynd.”

“Yeah,” Addi relaxed a little, “He’s a hard-ass when teaching, that’s for sure. I like to think he gets a little drunk when down here.”

Ophere couldn’t help but smile genuinely. After attending a few of Festeldus’ classes, she had to agree that the thought was amusing. The pamphlet was flimsy in her hands, and she opened the first page to read. Her eyes widened as she took in the filth printed inside. It was mostly part of her demure act. Mostly.

Addi gave her a sheepish look in return, “S-sorry.”

The room, almost at full volume again, suddenly fell back to a hush. A woman with long, silver hair stood up from a chair wedged between two men. She wore a white dress and a hood, reminiscent of handmaidens of Auriel. The two men, one armed with a drum, the other with a sitar, followed.

When Fia stepped onto the platform, some leaned forward. And given the content of the pamphlet, the attention was understandable. The respect this woman seemed to command… less so.

Fia cast magelight, enveloping her face in an otherworldly glow. It caught her eyes. Blue. Reflective in the radiance. “Everyone gather and listen now. I have emerged from a great slumber, awakened from my home in the glades. Last night, I had a dream.”

The man with a sitar strummed a trance-like melody.

“Yes, children, I had a dream,” Fia reached towards the light, “I was bathing in the fountains of the Cathedral of Magus, cleansing myself for the ritual of sun and shadow. Magicka gleamed against my brow. It was white and blue, like this light you see here. I dreamt of cleansing myself in preparation for my wedding… for surrendering my delicate Elven girlhood.”

A drum beat.

“To my lover. My keeper. My new father. The very model of Aldmeri Masculine Stewardship.”

The drummer beat the drum twice. Distinct. Loud.

“Then the doors slammed open, and I froze. Two great shadows fell over my bath. I turned, and there they were – children of Malacath! Two Orsimer with throbbing green cocks! Uncircumcised, and quite veiny, if it’s at all important.”

Laughter in the audience. They tittered at low-brow rubbish. How naughty. Ophere forced herself to look embarrassed, and then laughed along like everyone else.

Fia waited for it to quiet again, and she took on a far more casual pose – and a different accent, provincial, “Well, right at the start I’m wondering how I’m s’posed to fit these gents in. That’s a lot a man and only a bit of woman, virgin woman mind ye. Little elf lass, big Orsimer cocks. Well here’s what I did, I whipped up a bit of magic! Bein’ in Magus’ house makes that easy. Lotsa magicka, you can shape a cock, a pair of tits, an ass, whatever you like you can make what you want.”

She paused.

“My vagina grew, safely, naturally and quite magical-like, four inches that day. I can take as many cocks as I want now. Praise Magus.”

The audience erupted into a roar. Giggling, laughing. Coughing and laughing some more. It was cynical, digging at the fundamental truths of Dominion ideology through bizarre and titillating imagery. Why consider the real importance of preserving one’s self for carefully arranged procreation when one could have a laugh at a giant magickal vagina. On a deeper level, it emphasized the plastic nature of bodies. If the body doesn’t know the difference, surely the soul won’t, either. Purity is fake. Blood is fake. Stretch out your vagina with some fucking magick. 

‘Fia’, if she was indeed the original composer of this work, would likely see a moderate prison sentence. Then reeducation. Transition back towards life in public society in guided housing, and she may yet see the error of her ways. 

Ophere found that for those who merely aided subversive work, seeing the suffering of the primary composer was often enough. Especially for young people. They are never as committed to their rebellion as they believe they are. The Musicians might see six weeks of reeducation, at a live-in academy. 

As this was apparently art, Fia took a bow and received polite applause. People nodded, gestured towards her with their pipes – a few even took notes. Notes! 

Ophere rested her chin over her hand, “Do they always have pamphlets for their… performances?”

“Fia does. The others… not usually.”

“Where does she print them?” Ophere pressed.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” Addi turned a darker shade of orange.

The two women sat quietly for a moment, unsure how to proceed. At least, Addi wasn’t sure. She hid how scared she was behind a few puffs of her pipe. Hm. Couldn’t be more than forty-five years old. Addi's tobacco pipe resembled a prop to make her more mysterious and elegant. A cold worm wriggled into the pit of Ophere’s stomach.

“Isn’t it dangerous to take these with us?” Ophere set the pamphlet down, revealing the blank page on the back, “I heard the Thalmor conduct searches around here.”

Addi straightened up, a smile dangling at her lips, “Ah, well, yes. But they’re predictable – it’s so easy to avoid them. If you live outside the University like I do, it’s almost impossible to be bothered…. I can keep any contraband you’ve got, now that we’ve mentioned it.”

Gods. To think Ophere was afraid of arousing suspicion. “You’d do that for me?” she smiled, “Oh, I suppose I’ll have to find some contraband for you to keep.”

“I can help you with that, too!”

Ophere felt a twinge of pity. This college student was so unaware. Despite her unseemly homosexuality, Addi was just a pawn, even an innocent. Oh, no doubt Addi understood what was legal or illegal, but had she truly internalized the necessity of these restrictions? Or even why a dissident would want to circumvent them?

The night dragged on. Poetry Night seemed to encompass anything. An old man sang a ballad condemning the practice of conscripting petty criminals in traditional Altmeri. Another unveiled a self-portrait from menstrual blood, celebrating her own refusal to breed on behalf of the Dominion. A group of four performed a skit about supposed war crimes in Valenwood. 

A fat woman got up on the podium and started instructing the audience about making explosions with bottles of liquor, but Festeldus quickly shooed her away, “What did I say about rushing the podium, children?”

This displeased almost everyone.

“Jackboot!”

“The people demand arson!”

“Let Fatty speak, baby-killer!” 

Baby-Killer. How original. These… these children had no idea what they spoke of. Ophere expertly hid the fury bubbling through her chest. The innocent would be reclaimed, the guilty punished, and the traitors…

Festeldus cleared his throat, “Tough crowd. I might just hold off on performing –“

The audience turned in his favor almost immediately. Cries of ‘No sir! No sir! We’ll behave!” turned into a chant. It was loud. Even Addi joined in, between giggles.

Politics aside, this was all a bit fucking strange. Whatever he had to offer; it must be good. At least fascinating to these degenerates. Festeldus mulled it over. He stepped up to the podium and waited for the chanting to die down, “Now that you’re over yourselves, I do think I’ve got something for you ungrateful fucks.”

Festeldus fished a paper out of his robes and unfolded it, his eyes straining in the dim light. “It has come to my attention that some of our students use skooma.”

A few innocent shrugs. Some idle giggles. Shameless puffs of smoke.

“Children, using skooma for a ‘high’ is irresponsible and immoral,” Festeldus nodded gravely, “You may have heard that skooma helps you experience new realities, or that it makes you feel warm, comfortable and energized. This is false. Skooma is a dangerous substance. It is quite addictive. And without proper discipline, it runs the risk of turning you homosexual. That’s right. Skooma does indeed have its place, with proper discipline, for proper reasons.”

He cleared his throat, “For example, sometimes a soldier needs to stay awake 84 hours straight. If there were any other means to accomplish that, we would use it. Sometimes a justiciar needs a little boost before they pry crying babies out of the arms of dissidents or torture natives for following their natural beliefs. These things are not to be done entirely sober.”

His voice dropped dangerously, “And veterans have nightmares. What are they going to do when they dream about the Rape of Kvatch? Entire tribes suffocated and tossed into unmarked graves?! Imga flayed alive in service to a Dominion, nay, a Second Empire they knew nothing of! Some boys fighting are not yet seventy-five! They’re not yet fifty! They’re thirty! They’re twenty-five! They’re children! Would you let them incriminate themselves?! Let the world know that boy, mer and monster take the same form?! Unthinkable. Nonsense. Get them wasted on that shit.”

Festeldus straightened his back and coughed, “Skooma exists to make you better subjects of the Dominion. With this reminder, I suggest you go through the proper channels before you take another puff. The Dominion is high, too. It makes them quite capable of murdering students for smoking.”

Ophere dug her nails into her palm. This was… slander! The Dominion didn’t force soldiers to take skooma! Some of them did, and they weren’t prosecuted. That’s not the same thing as systemically using it for better performance! Her face grew hot, but her stomach twisted. None of her colleagues used it. She didn’t. Sometimes she had a nip of wine while working, but…

“Are you alright?” Addi asked.

The audience didn’t clap. Silence ruled the room, save a few exceptions. One of the students cried over missing his father. Another one murmured about how her Ice-Destruction professor was close to recommending conscription.

“My elder sister was sent to prison,” Addi responded to Ophere’s quiet reserve, “They… they found a letter I wrote to a… a friend of mine. I was just a girl. She told them she wrote it,” her jaw was tight, “I tried to tell them the truth, but they wouldn’t believe me… I might’ve just gone to a special academy for a few months. When she came back, she was so small, she had… scars. And I felt like it was my fault. For so long.”

The man in the brown cloak stopped by their table, “I was only twenty-eight when I was conscripted,” he tugged at the cloak, revealing a painfully scarred arm and shoulder underneath, “A fire rune got me sent back alive.”

Fia stood up, “I was taken from Cyrodiil as an infant. I never knew my mother!”

“Imaro came home addicted to skooma. He killed himself with it!”

“Our estate was destroyed because they found Imperial tapestries in the cellar. We didn’t even know we had them.”

“My aunt was just a healer! She didn’t even carry a weapon! They sent her into the Imperial City and she never came out!”

This continued until half the room shared a little story about how they or their loved ones were victimized. Ophere was struck with a wave of nausea. 

Festeldus cleared his throat, “We have a guest today. Let’s try and be nice.”

Everyone looked to Ophere.

“You see, we have ourselves a genuine jackboot here,” Festeldus raised an eyebrow, “Who, in her great cleverness, thought she could play a decent college student. It was a… noble endeavor. Not very convincing, but we don’t put down anyone’s art here, do we?”

“Good job, Justiciar Ophere!”

“Brava! Brava!”

“I’ll smoke to you!”

Ophere stood up suddenly. She was too far from the door. Still, a couple of patrons blocked it for good measure.

“The problem is you thought you were about to victimize guileless students and harmless academics,” Festeldus stepped down from the podium and approached her, “It’s so easy to terrify civilians into submission, isn’t it? Makes you get complacent.”

These weren’t mere social renegades - guileless students and harmless academics as Festeldus aptly put it.

They were…

“Imagine the promotion you would’ve gotten,” Festeldus nodded, "Uncovering a nasty hive of Beautiful."

Ophere felt all emotion die within her. She looked the man in the eyes, “I suppose you know you’re surrounded, then.”

Addi’s mouth twitched.

The entire basement trembled. A sound like a great oak tree being struck by lightning and split in half echoed through the walls. Screams from the surface followed, of whom it was unclear.


End file.
